bittersweet Nice

in Nice

under the spring

heavy blossom air

that weighs on 

my heart like

a wish

not a death sentence

like in Exeter

I spy you always

ahead

turning a street corner

or far down the promenade

in the blur

of strangers

your whispery laugh

the echoes looping

infinitely 

trickles through the throng

threatening

to dissolve the sunshine

and warmth

at the hostel

your perfect doppelgänger 

-all unsettling truth- 

looks me straight

in the eye

her accent and perfume

reminds me of another

broken heart

in another age altogether 

but her face, hair, skin

is all unbearably you

so that when we speak 

the words scratch the

back of my throat

my past- inescapable 

chases me relentlessly 

across the months and miles

I reach out my empty hand

in my bunk bed

to hug you

and even safe far away 

in England

you push it away

so I turn over

and dream of

regained friendship

and the day

we embrace again

however fictional

it may be